Goodnight and Go
by Digitallace
Summary: Harry is tasked with bringing American convert Draco back to the Ministry for questioning and possibly imprisonment. But the moment he sees the Slytherin again, Harry begins to have doubts as to whether or not he can. Explicit content warning.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: A hard copy of this story was written and mailed out to a few close friends as a Xmas present and thanks for being so awesome gift. Now that they've had it for over a week, I felt it would be fair to share a digital version with the rest of the world. Thanks to Shannon for her beta work...after she got her hard copy. *grin. This story is based on a song by Imogen Heap of the same name. Hopefully you all know of her and I won't need to throttle anyone. Otherwise, the lyrics will be posted at the end of the story.

* * *

Harry stared off vacantly as the department head went over the success of last week's assignments and passed around folders that would provide them with details for the new cases. The last few months had been this way, trying to tail and investigate anyone who had been released during the first round of trials following the war. They were nearing the time where the Ministry's statute of limitations was catching up with them, and Minister Shacklebolt wanted everyone checked in on to make sure there was no reason to renew the charges before it was too late.

A fair few of them had taken the various slaps to the wrists to heart and turned their lives around enough to elude being picked up by the Aurors again. Unfortunately, most of the wizards and witches spared by the war trials seemed to take their pardon as divine proof that they were supposed to be dabbling in Dark Arts and Muggle torture. Harry alone had hauled in no less than a dozen former Voldemort sympathizers for crimes committed long after the dust had settled on Hogwarts grounds.

Some remained hidden well enough that they frustrated the Ministry with wild goose chases, but no one got under Harry's skin personally the way the man in his new file did. When he opened it, the pointy features and gray eyes of Draco Malfoy stared back out at him. Even in his Ministry mug shot the boy was sneering imperiously, as if even behind Azkaban bars he felt he was better than everyone else.

The prat had only spent a week in the dank prison before his own trial found him innocent on the basis of his youth and the threats lobbied against him by Voldemort himself. Lucius was sentenced to death and Narcissa to life in prison, only spared the Dementor's Kiss because of her last minute save of the Boy-Who-Lived. Harry could hardly begrudge her that, but Lucius was pure evil and Harry almost rejoiced at seeing him sentenced to the Kiss had he not thought the punishment severe for even his worst enemy – and Lucius Malfoy certainly made that list if anyone did. He hadn't agreed with the Wizengamot's decision to release Draco at all, however, and had searched England high and low for the man, hoping to catch him brewing illegal potions or practicing Dark Magic just so he could have the satisfaction of wiping that smirk off the blond's face once and for all.

The trouble was, of all the people Harry longed to capture the most, Draco Malfoy was number one, but he was also the one they had the least leads on. It seemed the moment his trial was over he drained his accounts of what was left after his family's legal fees and disappeared. It was going on eight years since the war and not a soul had seen hide nor hair of the youngest Malfoy.

Today, all of that changed.

As the group was dismissed, files in hand for their own investigations, Harry hung back to speak with Edgar Willits, the department head. "Sir," he began hesitantly. Despite his high success record and likable reputation throughout the department, Harry had no plans to put in for Department Head. He didn't feel he was ready for that step yet, and wondered if he ever would be. Regardless of how often he told this to his superior, Willits never seemed to believe him and remained fully on guard whenever the former Gryffindor was around. "I was wondering why I got this file back. We've yet to locate Malfoy's whereabouts."

"In that, Mr. Potter, you're mistaken. If you were to check the contents of your file, you would have seen the new addition. A letter intercepted between Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson. It doesn't give an address of course, he's too clever for that after all, but it can be traced to a wealthy area of New York City," he informed Harry. "The trackers already pinpointed an approximate location for him, and you're scheduled to Portkey out this afternoon for reconnaissance."

"Yes, Sir," he replied, slinking from the conference room bashfully. He should have just looked at the blasted file; anything was better than trying to talk to that twat. As he made his way back to his own office, Ron stopped him with a curious expression on his face.

"Did they put you back on the ferret case?" he asked, plucking the file from Harry's palm and glancing over it. "There's been a break?"

"Apparently," Harry muttered, extracting the file from Ron's sticky fingers. He could see the trail of Chocolate Frog wrappers littering his desk even from out in the hall. As Harry had predicted in school, Ron's eating habits had finally caught up with him and he had started packing on weight at an alarming rate. Hermione had him on a very strict diet, but when she wasn't around – which was fairly often given her career choice in the Legal Department – Ron acted as though his diet was composed primarily of sweets. "Mione is going to throttle you if you don't stop gorging yourself," he pointed out, nodding his head toward the candy wrappers.

Ron flicked his wand and they flew into the rubbish bin and out of sight. "It was only a few, Harry. Anyway, it's not as if we can all have _your _metabolism."

"I'm fit because I work at it, Ron," Harry huffed. His redheaded friend was never able to halt his assumptions that the world didn't rise and set in Harry Potter's arse, and that despite what Ron thought, things weren't just handed to him on a silver platter. He was fit because he still played Quidditch every weekend and chased after bad guys all week. Not to mention he actually ate healthy, not drowned himself in rubbish all the time.

Now wasn't the time for another bitter tirade against his best friend, however. If he were going to leave for New York City in a couple hours, he would have to pack.

* * *

Harry stood at the International Portkey station in Gloucester and waited for his name to be summoned to the departure terminal. He hadn't spent much time in the US, and New York was such an overpowering marvel from what he'd heard of the Aurors who'd been on assignments there in the past. It was important that he not only stay off of Malfoy's radar if he found the man, but also to remain undetected by the American Aurors. The relations between the US and British Ministries was rather tenuous at the moment because of all the Death Eaters who fled the English shores afraid of persecution, not to mention the hundreds of witches and wizards who hid there during the war and apparently never left.

"Potter, Harry," called a woman's voice over the loud speaker and Harry got up, heading toward the designated area. A curvy blonde beamed at him and handed him a small disk with the Statue of Liberty imprinted on it. "New York?" she confirmed, and Harry nodded. "Here's a map of where you'll be arriving. Be sure to exit the immediate Portkey area as soon as you can. Have a nice trip," she told him and then she blinked out of sight as Harry was pulled through a long and nauseating straw across the ocean and to a pale green tiled room. Vague memories of sneaking into the Slytherin common room second year came unbidden to his mind but he made a hasty exit and followed the map up a flight of stairs and into the bustling heart of New York City.

* * *

Harry had been exhausted after his Portkey trip, so he checked in to a hotel and slept through the night, putting off his Auror duties until the next morning. Upon waking, he quickly realized he didn't have much to go on to start his investigation. He'd never seen a city so huge as this one and finding Malfoy amongst thousands of people suddenly seemed like a daunting task. London stretched out and out, but New York did too, and then it stretched up and into the sky as well. Even if Harry could narrow his search down to just one building it could take days to find Malfoy, and he certainly hadn't narrowed the possibility to one building. In fact, the Ministry had not been any more helpful than simply saying the owl and letter were traced back to Greenwich Village, which Harry soon discovered was a rather large, upper class area.

He found the neighborhood quaint and not as imposing as other parts of the City he'd seen on his way to the hotel. Still, he didn't know how he was going to find Malfoy in all this mess. Would he even look the same? With a mild glamour hiding his own trademark features as a precaution, Harry perused the streets of The Village and peeked into shops when he could, lingered at street corners and loitered the whole day in hopes the he would somehow stumble across the blond Slytherin.

He kept his shields open, trying to sense any magical signatures as he wandered about the town, but he was largely unsuccessful. By the time the sun began setting over the horizon. Harry was weary and famished. A small corner café called 'Organics' caught his attention and he slipped inside and ordered a sandwich and a small juice. He was about to take a bite when he looked up and spotted none other than the brilliant white hair of the man he'd been searching out all day.

Draco Malfoy looked much the same after eight years in exile and a good deal different at the same time. His face seemed somehow less pointy, softer, although he was just as pale as ever. His hair was cropped stylishly, hanging in chunky pieces around his face, partially obscuring those metallic silver eyes. He wore a dark blue and gray checked shirt with a thick woolen scarf that matched the gray in both his eyes and the shirt and his gaze flitted about the room, settling on Harry for only a moment before moving on.

He was followed into the café by a tall, thin woman with dark blonde hair and slanted lilac eyes. She looked exotic, with an olive complexion and full plum lips and Harry wondered vaguely if this was Malfoy's girlfriend. Beside her a bloke trailed in, his hair was obviously dyed the deep red shade that he achieved and his skin was nearly as pale as Draco's. He wore black-framed glasses and seemed pretentious to Harry before the man even opened his mouth. The three took a table within earshot of Harry, to which he was thankful.

He couldn't detect magical signatures on anyone in the room aside from Malfoy, which meant his friends were Muggles. The thought took him aback for a moment, though he didn't know what he'd expected. If Draco had shown his face in the New York magical community Harry would have found him ages ago.

Malfoy laughed at something the woman said, Claire, he called her, and leaned back elegantly in his chair, his eyes flicking occasionally toward Harry. The Auror did a silent check of his glamour to make sure it was still firmly in place, but Malfoy was probably attracted to the magic he exuded, not his specific features, which weren't enough like his own to draw unwanted attention. The man, Cameron, leaned in and placed a hand on Malfoy's thigh, easing it up to the groin and then back down to his knee twice before Malfoy shifted in annoyance, throwing the hand from his leg. The motion caught Harry's gaze and he stared, his face flushing at the sexual tension there and when he looked up again, Malfoy was smirking at him placidly.

Harry reasoned that he could just take him in right then, sweep over, grab Malfoy's arm and Apparate them to the Portkey station, but something stilled his had, something made him just stay and watch instead.

Claire continued with a story about a gallery opening, and Malfoy pretended to listen, all the while carrying on a staring contest with Harry. When the blond stood, he stretched slightly, making the muscles of his abdomen taut and visible through the fabric of his shirt and his low-slung denims. He started toward Harry and the brunet immediately lowered his head to his sandwich and took a gulp from his juice. Why did Malfoy have to be so cute? Why did this man he was ordered to bring back to the Ministry have such an effect on him? His groin nearly ached just from watching him stand up.

"Like what you see?" Malfoy purred beside his ear and Harry bristled, his skin covered in gooseflesh.

"I do, actually," Harry replied, deciding to play the part. Perhaps if Draco took him home, Harry could get a look at his place and his things and see if there was anything to back the charges the Ministry was prepared to levy against him when Harry drug the Slytherin prat back to London.

The man hummed in his ear and took the seat right next to him. Harry couldn't help but notice the look of disdain on Malfoy's neglected friends faces', though the woman seemed to take it in stride. Perhaps this was a regular occurrence, Draco scheming on strange men.

"So, what's the deal, Potter? Come to sling me over your arm and Portkey me back to Mother England?" he asked and Harry fought the flush on his face and lost. "I didn't know the Ministry was whoring out its Aurors now. I suppose you'd do anything to catch a bad guy though, wouldn't you, Potter? Even if that included sucking a bit of cock."

"I don't know who you're talking about, but-" he began to protest, but Draco held up a finger to halt him.

"Save it. I can feel the magic vibrating off of you in waves, and I know the flavor of your magic better than any other. I can taste you on my tongue, Potter," he explained suggestively.

Harry sagged, no longer wanting to play this game. "I'm just here to visit the fine state of New York. You know, checking things out," he assured.

"Would those things include my arse? Because you couldn't seem to peel your eyes away from it back there," Draco noted with an indulgent smirk.

"No," Harry huffed petulantly. "I would like to ask you a few questions though."

"I'll only allow it if you do so over the dinner you're buying me tomorrow night," Draco replied with a smirk.

Harry fought a grimace and instead nodded. He'd do whatever it took to get the answers the Ministry was looking for, and perhaps he could persuade the blond to accompany him to London for more questioning to close out his case. If he could avoid force, Harry always did.

"Fine," he muttered, making it clear to Draco that he felt put out by the gesture. "What time and where?"

"Oh, don't you worry your pretty little head about where. I'll be sure to make reservations at a nice place," he replied with a wink and Harry groaned inwardly as he practically watched his allotted expenses for the mission triplicate. All he could do was nod curtly, his mouth drying out as Draco leaned in and patted him on the thigh – far higher than was decent to do in public. "Goodnight, Potter," he whispered as he left the café in a silky stride, beckoning his friends to follow him out the door without a word or even a glance.

The man, Cameron, glared at Harry as he stalked out, followed by the woman, Claire, who didn't even spare a second glance in Harry's direction as she too followed the blond out the door and into the night. Harry spared only a few moments regaining his composure before slipping out the door and following the ragtag group. He snuck briefly into an alley to throw his Invisibility cloak around his shoulders and proceeded to stalk them from the café.

Two blocks down, Claire left the trio with a wave, and as soon as she did, Cameron's hand found Draco's until the blond brushed it away and turned to face the man, halting in the street with his finger held up to press ominously against the redhead's chest. "I said leave me alone, Cam. Just because I've broken things off with Justin, doesn't mean I'm ready for your greedy hands to come scoop me up. I told you, I need time."

"You didn't seem to need time when you were chatting up that guy back at the café," the man pointed out wisely.

"He's an old acquaintance from my school days. I was just having one over on him anyway," Draco huffed, causing Harry to bristle with indignation. It was one thing to assume as much, but quite another to have it spelled out for him. "Potter's as straight as they come."

Harry almost laughed aloud at the inaccuracy of Malfoy's statement, an insidious plan forming in his mind. Two could play at this game.

"He didn't look straight to me," Cameron griped, causing Harry to shift in place and glance down at himself from under the invisibility cloak. Was it really that obvious? It wasn't as if he was dressed like a ponce, or even like Malfoy for that matter. He was just wearing Muggle denims and a clean jumper after all, what had given it away? And as if the faux redhead could hear Harry's inner dialogue, he answered. "He was ogling you the whole time we were there."

"Jealous?" Malfoy replied with a smirk and Cameron narrowed his eyes.

"Was that your point?" he asked, but Malfoy merely shrugged.

"It doesn't matter. I told you I'm not ready to date anyone and I meant it. Now sod off. I'll see you tomorrow," he quipped, apparently pointing in the direction of the other man's flat. He did as told, like a good little lackey, and Harry tried to shake away the mean thought. What did he care if this Cameron bloke wanted to shag Draco? It wasn't as though he had any claim on the blond, or even wanted to for that matter.

Draco turned and began walking in a different direction and Harry hung back for a moment, not wanting the feel of his magic to drift too close to the blond while he was alone. Harry just needed to see where the man lived so that he could search the place in the event Malfoy wasn't corporative at dinner.

When he spotted the flash of white hair again, Harry quickened his pace, not wanting to lose the man in such a large city. He shouldn't have worried though, because the next street Malfoy turned down was completely devoid of any other people. Draco had little white buds in his ears, stretching down to attach to a small shiny Muggle device, and when Draco began variably dancing in the street, it took all of Harry's Auror training to keep himself from snickering.

It was certainly _not_ adorable to watch Malfoy shimmy his hips to the beat of whatever music he was listening to, and neither was it cute to hear him sing aloud and slightly out of tune. But regardless of how clearly unappealing the display should be, Harry couldn't seem to wipe the grin from his face. It appeared Malfoy was rather different when he thought no one was looking, energetic and alive.

When Draco finally stopped at a well-kept three-story brownstone, Harry felt mildly bereft of his unknowing company. He leaned against a blooming dogwood tree just outside the stairs and watched Draco unlock the door and slip inside. Moments later a light clicked on and Harry could see through the gaping curtains that Malfoy occupied the second floor of the building. He summoned his broom, casting a Vanishing Charm on it as he hovered up to get a better look at the place Draco Malfoy called home.

Some of the walls were exposed brick with vibrant painting that Harry couldn't quite make out hanging from their surface, and the rest of the walls were painted a neutral tan, but art seemed to hang in every nook of the room except that which was occupied by a large red lacquered cabinet. On its shelves were all manners of Muggle electronics and Harry wondered how the man ever figured any of them out. Harry felt as though he might have a difficult time of it and he had grown up in a Muggle home.

Beyond the living room was a modern kitchen, the cabinets in the same polished red of the entertainment center in the living room, and Draco went there first, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge before pulling off his scarf and hanging it on a hook against the wall by the door. He slumped with his water in front of the massive telly, and flipped through channel after channel before settling on an old black and white movie Harry had never seen.

Malfoy nodded off sitting there on the couch, slowly slipping sideways until he woke up, blinking furiously into the light of the room. Clicking off the TV, Draco got up and turned off the living room lights as well and padded across into the adjacent room. Harry silently flew to that window and watched with wide eyes and a pulsing heart rate as Draco disrobed, pulling his shirt over his tightly muscled torso and tossing it into the hamper, followed quickly by his arse-hugging denims. When he was down to his boxers, Draco thankfully disappeared into what Harry could only assume was a bathroom, shutting the door most of the way behind him.

Harry tried very hard not to be disappointed that he wasn't going to get a chance to spy on a very nude Draco Malfoy. He was on assignment and furthermore, this was Malfoy, bane of his existence and overall prat. There was no reason to fancy him, Harry simply thought the blond had a nice body, but surely anyone could appreciate that, gay or straight.

When he reappeared, Malfoy turned down the pewter gray bedding of his platform bed and then hooked his thumbs beneath his pitch-black boxer shorts, giving them a firm yank before tossing them with the rest of his soiled clothes. Harry wanted to avert his gaze, feeling like he was some voyeuristic pervert for watching Draco naked and glorious in his room, but he couldn't seem to so much as blink with the beauty that hovered before him.

He tried to reason that he needed any and all information about the former Death Eater to bring back to his supervisor, so that prying was a necessary part of his job. What if Willits asked him about Malfoy's pert arse, or about the size of his cock? It would be a disaster if Harry had no answers for the man. Wouldn't it?

Harry decided that it would, and continued to watch as Malfoy slipped under his warm-looking bedding and covered himself from Harry's persistent gaze. He certainly did not want to climb in bed with the man, or wrap his own naked body around that of Malfoy. He didn't want to press firm kisses into all that luminous flesh or lick hot trails from tip to toes, and he most certainly didn't fantasize about sucking the man's cock. That would be unprofessional.

Although, what if Willits asked him about what Malfoy's cock tasted like? Could Harry cope with having to tell the man that he had no idea? Harry shook his head and coasted away from the window, practically tearing his gaze from the pale god that lurked inside. Clearly there was no logical reason for Willits to ask about the shape, size or taste of Malfoy's cock, but Harry was nothing if not thorough in his investigations.

Author's Note: This was meant to be a oneshot, but I got a bit carried away, so it will be two parts (over 11k words total)


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Thanks to all the readers who reviewed. And now, on with the show.

* * *

Harry was at Draco's building early the next morning, in time to catch the man leaving his flat to wander down the street to a local coffee shop. When it seemed the blond would be there for a moment, Harry ducked into the alley to remove his cloak before waltzing into the coffee shop and bumping into Malfoy as if he hadn't seen him there. "Oh," he grunted, feigning injury at his abrupt halt and looked up into Malfoy's surprised gray eyes. "Well, well. Fancy meeting you here, Malfoy."

"Likewise," the man sneered, not nearly as chipper as he had been the night before. "Tell me again, what _are_ you doing here?"

"Getting coffee," Harry pointed out, listening carefully to the way people ordered as he let his gaze linger over Malfoy's form. This time he wore a heather tank, rather loosely fitting on his thin frame, and a dark green pullover. He looked edible again, but Harry quickly cast the thought away and focused on work.

When they approached the front of the line, Draco waved magnanimously for Harry to order first, and he sputtered some odd combination of lowfat-mocha-light-foam-no-whip, just as one of the ladies before him had done, and he had no idea what product he would end up with in the end.

"Tall, grande or venti?" the man asked and Harry panicked.

"Er. Medium?" he tried, ignoring Draco's snickering laughter beside him. The Barista rolled his eyes and grabbed a foam cup and took it over to someone else who started grabbing odd levers that caused hot liquid to spew from thin spouts. Draco ordered behind him and together they stepped aside and waited for their drinks.

"Drink a lot of coffee, do you?" Draco asked, smirking pleasantly.

"Sure," Harry huffed as if that were quite obvious and turned away to watch the progress of his drink. When they set a group down on the serving table at the end, Harry had no idea which to reach for.

"What did you order?" Draco asked, looking at the strange symbols on the side of the drink that looked harder to decipher than hieroglyphs.

"I…I don't remember," Harry admitted and Draco chuckled, pulling one of the drinks to the side and handing it to Harry.

"I think this one's it." With drink in hand, Harry made to sip at the scalding liquid, all the while with Malfoy watching him closely. He tried not to grimace at the bitter drink, but Malfoy caught his distaste nonetheless and wrapped an arm around Harry's waist, tugging him from the coffee shop. "It's an acquired taste," Malfoy admitted while Harry tried not to notice the warm appendage pulling him close, or the even warmer torso pressed against him as they walked. "It took me months to get used to it. Tea just isn't as prevalent over here."

Malfoy's conversation with Cameron came rushing back to him and he allowed himself to glance down at their joined hips briefly, remembering that Draco was simply putting him on. Harry wondered what the blond would do if he discovered that Harry was every inch as gay as Malfoy was, despite the man's misconceptions.

He molded against Draco's body, feeling the man tense instantly and stifling a chuckle, before wrapping his own arm around Draco's waist in turn. "So, Malfoy. What is there to do in this city?" he asked casually, as if he wandered around hanging on blokes all the time.

Malfoy was silent for a long moment before finally huffing. "Sorry, Potter. I can't be your escort around the city today. I actually have to work." He let his arm drop as he said the words and Harry found he was reluctant to stop the ruse.

"Right," Harry replied without too much hesitation, stepping aside to let a little elderly woman slip between them. "Where is that?"

"Uptown," he replied vaguely. "I'll see you at dinner tonight, alright?" he asked and Harry nodded, already deciding that if Malfoy wanted to hide his profession from Harry, it must be something illegal. This was perhaps the break he was sent looking for, the one he had hoped to find before…. Before nothing. There was nothing to keep Harry from fulfilling his Auror duties. Nothing at all. Just because Malfoy looked terrific in a pair of denims and because his swaying gate made him look oh so shagable, didn't mean that he was exempt from the law. If Malfoy were doing something illegal, Harry would discover it and send him to the Ministry. That was all there was to it. "Meet me at Giordano's at seven."

With that he was gone, taking his shimmering hair and stunning arse elsewhere and Harry paused for just a moment before covertly following him to his place of work. He didn't even have to use the cloak, because at this time of morning there were so many others bustling off to get somewhere. All he had to do was blend into the crowd, which outside of wizarding London, Harry found he was rather good at.

Harry was more than surprised at what he'd found when his journey ended, however. He waited for Malfoy to slip inside the frosted glass doors before stepping up to gaze at the building. It was white granite, or some other sort of sparkling stone, with several large paned windows in the storefront. He didn't know what he had been expecting – some dark, dank, basement operation where Malfoy would brew unseemly potions perhaps – but this was nothing like what he'd envisioned for his old school rival. Hanging in the nearest window was a large painting, a familiar scene to Harry's eyes, of a dark forest with a little stone shack just outside its limits. The shack had a thatched roof and a small vegetable garden just outside and if Harry looked closely enough, he thought he could spy Hagrid's furry face peeking out one of the windows.

In the bottom right corner was a signature, just a simple black dragon with its tail coiled around a name. Lucas Black. That was the name Draco was going by as a Muggle.

The detail with which Draco managed to capture one of his childhood haunts had him enraptured, frozen in place as he studied the painting for traces of lingering magic, but found none. Draco had produced this portrait with oils and inks, not swishes and flicks. Harry had never realized how talented an artist Draco was, and wondered momentarily if Draco had either before he was forced into exile. Perhaps it was common knowledge amongst his friends and Harry felt a pang of guilt at realizing that Harry had never – not for even a brief moment – considered Draco worthy of his friendship.

He tried not to think too long on that, since past was past and without a Time Turner, there wasn't much to be done about it. Still, the single painting in the window had Harry desperate to see more, and unwisely, he entered the gallery, mesmerized by what he found there.

More paintings, all with magical origins, met his view when he stepped inside. Hogwarts castle, Platform 9 ¾, The Quidditch Pitch, all there for Harry to view as if he were looking at a Muggle photograph of those very places. He lingered near one, a scene Harry hadn't thought about in a very long time. It was the final battle at Hogwarts and Hagrid was carrying Harry out of the forest to a crowd of distraught Aurors and schoolmates. He was transfixed by the way Draco seemed to capture the tense emotion of the event, even though you couldn't make out the faces of any of those involved.

Admittedly he might have been projecting just a tad, but he felt it nonetheless.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" a woman asked, causing Harry to spin in place and address the woman who had managed to sneak up on him. It shouldn't have happened, she shouldn't have been able to approach him without Harry hearing her, which worried him. He'd been so wrapped up in Malfoy's painting that he'd thrown away caution. What if it had been Malfoy at his back with a Hex at the ready? This would not do.

"It is," he replied, recovering somewhat as he put his senses on full alert as they should have been to start with.

"Lucas has a way with fantasy art like this. It doesn't sell as readily as more modern depictions might, and I've pleaded with him to expand his medium, but he's set on these nonsensical scenes. He has such a vivid imagination, It's so realistic you could almost envision yourself there," she mused.

Harry nodded, because not only did he agree with Malfoy's obvious talent with a paintbrush, he could in fact, easily envision himself there since he had been more times than he could count. "So, he doesn't do anything else?"

"I'm afraid not, though these are some of his later paintings. He started with portraits of people; in fact, his very first painting is right over here. Several offers have been made, but no one has bid enough for Lucas to part with it," she told him as she led Harry to another corner of the gallery. He gasped when he saw the painting she'd meant to show him, and her gaze left the painting to alight on Harry for a moment, a peculiar gleam in his eyes. "It looks so similar to you, Sir," the curator noted, and it did.

It looked exactly like him, because it _was him_.

Unruly black hair, lightning bolt scar, dark round glasses – everything about the portrait practically screamed Harry Potter. He was standing in his Quidditch gear, all burgundy, gold and rich brown leathers, one hand holding his broom aloft and the other holding his wand menacingly, a gleam of Gryffindor courage in those shimmering green eyes. It was as if Draco had managed to capture the very essence of his hero persona in a thousand intricate brush strokes.

Harry felt himself warm at the knowledge that this had been Draco's first painting, or at least the first he'd placed within the gallery. He didn't even begin to know what to make of the fact that Draco hadn't sold it yet. Surely he'd want all reminders of their quarrels long behind him? "It does bear an uncanny resemblance," Harry noted, peering at it carefully. "Although, I've been told I have a very familiar face."

"I wouldn't say that at all," she noted, her eyes taking on the manic spark that Hermione's often did when she was on the verge of solving some great mystery. "Where did you say you were from?"

"I didn't," Harry pointed out, pursing his lips.

"The artist is here, Lucas takes up a room in the back that he uses to create his masterpieces. Should I bring him out? Let art meet reality?" she offered, clearly wanting to do that very thing.

Harry didn't want that though. The run in at the coffee shop had been enough stalking on his part for one day. If Draco discovered him here at his gallery the man would grow suspicious of ulterior motives and probably go into hiding. That was the last thing Harry needed. He had a date with the man that night anyhow; he didn't need to push his luck any further than he had already.

Above all that, Harry found he didn't want to embarrass the blond, which was such a foreign feeling for him. Usually all he wanted was to humiliate the snarky man in some way, but not this time. Draco had been clear that he didn't want Harry here, so he obviously wasn't confident about his artistry, or perhaps there was some other reason why he didn't want Harry there, but either way, he didn't feel welcome in this gallery as much as it pulled him in and he didn't want Draco to discover him there.

"That's quite alright," Harry murmured, inching for the door. "I'm late for an appointment, but I'll be sure to drop by again when I have a free moment."

He wanted to Obliviate her so that she wouldn't tell Draco that he'd been there. He felt sure that she would without it, but he felt wrong muddling the innocent woman's mind. She hadn't found out anything about wizards or magic, even though she was surrounded by its imagery all day, and doubtless she would get nothing out of Malfoy were she to address the situation.

After reasoning that he would just have to accept the consequences, Harry bowed and swept out of the gallery in a blur. He was so distracted as he walked away from Malfoy's gallery that he didn't see the faux redhead approaching him in the other direction until the man snagged his arm and wrenched him into the alley outside a bagel shop.

"What are you doing with Lucas?"

Harry rolled his eyes. He really needed to stop letting Muggles take him off guard, it wasn't healthy for his career. "Cameron, right?" Harry said and the man looked a little surprised Harry had known that. "I assure you that I am no threat to you."

That wasn't entirely true. If Harry spied Cameron inappropriately touching Malfoy again, Harry just might Hex the git.

"He's different around you," the man observed, but Harry didn't see that as the case.

"We never got on at school," Harry told him, even though it was none of the man's business. "He still thinks of me as his rival."

"I'm not enough of a challenge for him," Cameron replied, as if realizing it for the first time.

Harry patted him on the shoulder and moved away, back toward the street and away from the urine smelling alleyway. "You work on that."

It didn't seem enough though; Cameron snatched at Harry roughly and yanked him back to the wall. "Is it true that you're straight?" he asked.

"I'm not interested in Malfoy," Harry spat, taken aback by the Muggle's actions.

"Malfoy?" he asked and Harry used the distraction to knee the man in the gut and slip out of his grasp, casting a mild repellent Charm as he did, to ensure that Cameron didn't make another grab for him. He was growing concerned for Malfoy and the company he kept. This man seemed slightly crazed.

Harry bolted while he could, slinking away to blend in with the crowd. The camouflage of people, coupled by his quick spell casting made certain Cameron couldn't give chase.

* * *

"Out with it, Potter. Why are you in New York?"

After getting directions to the restaurant from the hotel concierge, Harry met Draco there and they had been sharing a bottle of wine while they waited for their food to arrive. Surprisingly, the restaurant wasn't nearly as expensive as he'd anticipated, moderate, but not outlandish. Draco hadn't mentioned his visit to the gallery yet, so either he didn't know or he was hiding the fact that he did quite well.

"I'm here to see you," he replied honestly, but made it sound like a bit of a joke.

"Business or pleasure?" Draco asked, waggling his eyebrows.

"Business," Harry said without hesitation, earning himself a mocking smirk from the blond, but he wasn't finished answering. "But perhaps it could end up being a bit of both."

Draco's eyebrows shot so high up into his fringe that Harry thought they might never resurface until he laughed and the tension dissipated at once.

"You were only teasing," Draco observed, but Harry merely shrugged. "How is the Weasel-ette?" he asked when it seemed as though Harry would say nothing more.

It took him a moment to realize whom Draco was talking about and then a slow smile curled on his features. "Ginny? She's great. Married Neville two years ago."

"Longbottom? I never thought he'd manage to score with a woman his age. I figured he was bound to marry one of his Gran's friends at her insistence," Malfoy teased and Harry couldn't help but chuckle at the image. Neville was a dear friend, but he had to admit, that grandmother of his kept him on a very tight leash. "How about you then? I'll bet you're already engaged."

"Hardly," Harry scoffed. "I was dating this bloke back at the Ministry, but things didn't work out," he added, letting the words sink into Malfoy's thick head. He could almost see the moment when the information clicked into place and relished the gaping face he was rewarded with in return for his troubles.

"Bloke?" he repeated and Harry nodded.

"He thought I was something that I wasn't," Harry sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Everyone sees the hero, no one bothers to look for the man underneath."

Draco shivered across from him and leaned in, running his lithe fingers along the ones holding Harry's wine glass. "That's why I left Justin," he admitted softly, "the last bloke I dated," he added when Harry looking mildly confused. "We'd been together for a couple years, but he was a Muggle, and he'd never know everything there was to know about me and I was too afraid to tell him. I ended up shutting him out because of it."

"You and I aren't so different," Harry mused, more to himself than for Draco's benefit, but the man nodded. "I had no idea you were such a talented artist," Harry blurted, suddenly not caring where it led because the conversation was quickly getting away from him and into territories he wasn't yet comfortable discussing.

Draco pursed his lips and sunk back in his chair, his fingers trailing away with him. Harry tried to tell himself that he didn't miss the touch but he wasn't entirely successful in his convincing. "Yes, Madeline said you'd been by. Not _you_ of course but the man who resembled my painting, which of course is you. But I'm sure you've already figured that out."

Harry nodded and smiled faintly. Draco seemed to be flustered and the flush it produced to his cheeks was very becoming and produced an inappropriate heat in his groin. "It was nice," he mentioned. "Very nice."

"But?" Draco prompted, apparently sensing that there was one of those coming around the corner.

"But, is that how you see me?" Harry asked, not sure why it mattered how Draco Malfoy thought of him. He would just another in the long line of the wizards who saw the hero and not the man.

"It's one of the ways I see you," he admitted, "the other painting I've made of you is far too intimate for a public gallery.

Harry's eyes widened as he imagined some ridiculous nude portrait of him hanging on someone's wall and shuddered. The effect made Draco chuckle until he'd practically thrown his head back in mirth. "You should have seen your face," he said between gasping breaths. "Did you really think I'd made some pornographic painting of you?"

"You said it was intimate," Harry quipped, smiling in spite of his dislike of being laughed at. Malfoy's bell-like snicker quelled his worries that the man held ill will toward him. "You should laugh like that more often," he whispered and Draco's eyes sparkled at the compliment but he ignored it and pressed ahead.

"I only paint what I know, and I don't know the naked side of you, Potter. Although, I wouldn't refuse you posing for me," he added cheekily. "However, I can't promise my strokes would be on the canvas."

Harry's eyes widened comically and he gasped, covering his mouth while smiling broadly behind it. "Why Malfoy, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were hitting on me."

"Are you receptive to that?" he asked and Harry found himself nodding before he could stop himself. "Then let's get out of here."

Harry's pulse shot up at the words, and more so at the predatory look in Malfoy's eyes. Harry suddenly realized that he hadn't even begun to conduct a proper interview. He was supposed to be there in Auror capacity, not as a man who desperately wanted to shag Draco Malfoy. He'd never been as attracted to anyone in his life as he was to the blond in that moment, and he found himself completely unable to refuse him. Harry stood, tossing several bills on the table – more than enough to cover their unconsumed meal. He didn't care that they hadn't been there long enough to eat, however, because he fully intended to devour his old Slytherin rival.

* * *

Harry Potter had never been as nervous in all his life as he was staring across the short expanse of living room at Draco Malfoy. Merlin, he was gorgeous. As he tugged at the buttons of his shirt, slipping it slowly and carefully away from his pale shoulders, Harry was forced to stand there like a blithering idiot.

Never before had Harry felt so inadequate, his dark, rumpled mane was nothing in comparison with Draco's soft, flaxen locks. His skin was marred a dozen times over with bruises and scars, where Draco's skin remained luminescent and flawless. He felt awkward and gangly against Draco's innate gracefulness. Suddenly all Harry wanted to do was flee, but something – probably Malfoy's come-hither stare – kept him rooted in place.

Malfoy seemed to sense his reluctance and strode over to where Harry stood, plastered against the back of Malfoy's countertop. His bare chest pressed against Harry's clothed one, Draco's lips hesitantly lifted toward the brunet's, resting ever so slightly against them.

The feel of that chaste touch sent all of Harry's doubts flying out the window and he kissed the blond with a fervor he'd been hiding since his last break-up. Malfoy tasted sweet and salty all at once, and their tongues danced for dominance as they melded against one another. "Clothes," Draco panted between heavy snogs. "Too many of them."

Harry frantically rushed to free himself of the constricting apparel, muttering to himself about the inventor of buttons and strangling that man. Draco chuckled darkly and moved to assist him, taking hold of Harry's belt and undoing it himself. "Now, let's have a look at you," Draco said, taking a step back to admire Harry's naked form, pacing in a slow circle before coming to stand directly behind the brunet, pressing his chest into Harry's back. "Yes, that'll do," he whispered against the shell of Harry's ear, causing the man to shiver. "That'll do just fine."

Teeth sank into the tender flesh of Harry's neck and he groaned, unable to help the noise as it fled his mouth. At some point Malfoy had removed his trousers as well. His erection was pressing firmly into the crack of Harry's arse, and Harry couldn't help but think that it felt as though it had always belonged there. He ground against it, making the other man gasp and moan, a delicious sound to Harry's ears.

Draco shifted then, grabbing Harry's elbow and tugging him into the bedroom. "There is something I've always wanted to do," he told Harry, licking his lips salaciously as he stalked the brunet over to the bed.

"Oh?" Harry was half-gasping just from the look on Malfoy's face, a mixture of hunger and curiosity that made his eyes light up from within and darken around the edges. "And what's that?"

"I've always wanted to know if a hero's cock tastes any different from a regular bloke's," he mused. "Mind if I find out?"

"By all means," Harry rasped, voice thick with lust as he gestured toward his protruding member. "Taste away."

Draco grinned like a cat offered cream and pounced, sending Harry toppling down to the bed where Draco swallowed him whole on the first go. A strangled cry escaped Harry's lips, tearing from his throat as his head lolled back from the excruciating pleasure of it. It bordered on pain the way Draco teased him with his expert tongue, bringing him just to the brink of orgasm before pulling him back into the depths of desire.

"Fuck, I'm going to-" Harry cried out a moment too late, as the pleasure finally took him and emptied him into Draco's waiting throat.

Draco shot him a lascivious grin as he licked a dribble of come away from his chin and leaned up to kiss Harry, long and lingering, so that his own flavors were mixed together on his palate with Draco's. "So?" Harry asked breathily when Draco pulled away. "What's the verdict?"

"Better," Draco replied with a wink. "So much better."

Harry wanted to laugh, to roll his eyes or to shove playfully at the man, but Draco quickly disappeared to assault him in other places with that delicious tongue. The moment he felt the brush of that tight, wet muscle caressing his entrance, Harry was nearly hard and ready once again. And again, Draco teased him, flicking and sucking and fucking Harry with his tongue until Harry literally begged for more.

When the first finger breached him, Harry rocked against it, driving it further inside of him and made Draco gasp, his eyes glazing over from the feel of Harry Potter impaled upon his finger. All sense of decorum fled from his very bones and he could wait no longer. Pulling away only long enough to line himself up to Harry's entrance, Draco thrust inside the keening Gryffindor, gasping at the feel of the ebony-haired man clenching around him.

The satiny heat of him felt wonderful, better than Draco could have imagined, and he'd be lying if he said that he hadn't ever thought of this very thing. Harry felt amazing, so amazing in fact that Draco didn't know how long he would be able to fight back his imminent orgasm. It seemed like a waste, because Merlin only knew when he'd get such an opportunity again – if ever – but the body wanted what the body wanted, and right that moment, all it wanted was to come screaming inside his schoolboy rival and not hold back.

So, he held nothing back. He came and he screamed and he was slightly amused that his scream sounded a lot like Harry's given name, but not extremely put out by that fact. When he had the capacity to open his eyes again, he found a mauled and sated looking Gryffindor staring back at him with hooded eyes.

"I'd offer you a spot on my sofa tonight, but I'm afraid the heat is broken," Draco told him, slumping to cover Harry's body with his own.

"I suppose I'll just have to share the bed with you then," Harry breathed, feeling his guts twist and tingle at the thought of waking up beside Malfoy.

"My thoughts exactly."

* * *

Harry woke up feeling guilt rather than contentment. Sure the blond was warm and soft in his arms, his head buried in the crook of Harry's neck, but they'd gotten this way under false pretenses and that made Harry's heart burn slightly at the thought of it. He was supposed to be interrogating Malfoy about his life here in the States, not trying to bed the beautiful man. And since when did he crush on Draco Malfoy? Obviously it had happened at some point between telling him to sod off after the war and shagging him the night before, but when?

He stared over at the man he used to loathe with all of his might. Draco had always been beautiful, so that certainly wasn't excuse enough for Harry to have fallen for him. No, there was something else, something vulnerable and warm about the blond that was hidden deeply under the layers of snarky wit. Only Draco's paintings showed it clearly, the true soul beneath the prattish exterior.

And the eyes, one couldn't forget the intensity of that gray gaze when all the shields were down and he was staring at Harry with kindness and curiosity and lust. Much what he looked like just then. "Hullo," Harry greeted in a sleep-coated voice.

"So it wasn't a dream?" Draco muttered, clearing the crust from his eyes and blinking rapidly before staring at Harry again. Some of his walls had already rebuilt around that gaze, but not all of them.

"Not unless your memory is vastly different from my own," Harry remarked and Draco chuckled.

"I forgot to ask. How long will you be staying?" Draco looked away as he spoke, trying to make it sound as if it didn't matter what the answer was.

"Not long, I'm afraid," Harry admitted. Truth of it was, his assignment would allow him to stay as long as he liked so long as he provided sufficient evidence of why he should, but he couldn't chance that. He couldn't stay here with Malfoy – _Draco_ – and remain an unbiased Auror. Nor could he stay for any decent amount of time without drawing the Ministry's unwanted attention to their relationship, were they to create one, which would be the only reason Harry would consider staying to begin with.

He would report back to the Ministry that he'd found nothing incriminating and because he was Harry Potter, they would believe him at his word. Even though Harry didn't know anything about the blond for certain, he felt compelled to defend him. If Draco eventually got caught for illegal use of Dark Magic, then Harry would have to bear the blame, and if he never heard from the Slytherin again, well then Harry will know that he was right to trust him.

"Well, that was good and vague, Potter," Draco murmured.

"Tonight," Harry replied softly, knowing it was better to leave Draco sooner rather than later.

Draco blinked again and swallowed thickly before sweeping from the bed with a scowl. "I suppose you couldn't have mentioned this _before_ now?"

"Would it have made any difference?" Harry asked, his brow knit in confusion.

"I might've stilled my haste last night," Draco grumbled.

"Is the aloof Draco Malfoy chastising me for assuming this was a one-night stand?" Harry asked, amusement tinting his tone.

"Of course not," he snapped, throwing on a set of sapphire blue robes to cover his nudity. "I'm merely pointing out that it would be nice for a bloke to know when the man he just slept with is about to flee the country, never to be seen again."

Harry chuckled and scrambled out of bed, pulling Draco's resistant form against his own. "That sort of sounds like what I said, only reworded a tad to suit you better."

"So what if it is?" Draco pouted, and Harry captured the man's lips.

"Tell me not to go, and I won't go," he whispered on an impulse he knew he could never take back. His departure seemed to affect Draco more than he could have ever expected, and he suddenly wanted a reason to stay wrapped around this infuriating blond.

"Don't be ridiculous," he scoffed, turning in Harry's grip so that they were back to chest. "You have nothing here. No job, no family, no friends. Why would you stay?"

"For you, or didn't I make that clear?" Harry teased.

"I refuse to be sucked into your romantic Gryffindor nonsense. You'd never last here if you stayed just for me. You'd be miserable, then you'd make me miserable and then we'd hate each other and you'd move back to London anyhow," Draco pointed out.

"So, you're just cutting to the end of the story then?" Harry whispered against the shell of Draco's ear.

"I'm just saying goodnight, Harry, and sending you on your way," he whispered back.

"It's morning," Harry reminded the blond.

"Well, goodnight sounds better than goodbye, doesn't it? Leaves some bit of hope for the grabbing," Draco responded and Harry smiled against his earlobe. Draco let out a low groan and pulled away, swiping at his arms as if to brush away dirt. "You Gryffindor lot are contagious," he complained, narrowing his eyes. "You've already got me acting like a lovesick Crup. If you stay, there would be no more Draco Malfoy left."

"That doesn't have to be true," Harry reasoned.

"But it is," Draco replied. "So, goodnight, Harry."

With that, Draco turned and disappeared into the loo, and Harry took that as his sign to go, that he was no longer welcome in the Slytherin's flat or city or life.

* * *

"You…fell in love with…Malfoy?" Hermione repeated back numbly, staring at Harry with incredulous eyes.

"It's not as impossible as it sounds when _you_ say it," Harry remarked bitterly, swirling his coffee as he stared at it instead of his best friend. Even back in London, the land of tea drinkers, he'd taken up coffee in memory of his last encounters with the blond.

Hermione was giving him less than patient eyes and he didn't care to look up. He'd had to tell someone, he was just bursting from keeping his brief rendezvous with the Slytherin all locked up inside of him. Besides, Hermione was too observant for her own good and she wasn't the type to let Harry sulk without prying into the reasons behind it.

"It seems pretty impossible, Harry. You left here wanting to see him tarred and feathered," she explained.

"And I came back to clear his name. Now the statute of limitations has run out and the Ministry will have to leave him alone," Harry countered.

"Unless he uses dark magic again," she pointed out.

"Which he won't," Harry argued.

"How do you know that?" Hermione was giving him one of her sternest looks, the one that reminded him of McGonagall when she was lecturing Harry about tardiness. "He's in the States, he could be doing anything."

"He's different from that boy we knew in school, Mione," Harry replied, raking a hand through his wild hair. "I had to protect him. You know what the Ministry could do to him. They _want_ him to be guilty to that they have an excuse to secretly lock him away without the press gaining wind of it."

"But Harry, all the things he did-" she began, cut off by a glare.

"You performed an illegal memory charm on your parents and shipped them off to Australia, Mione. What wouldn't any of us do to protect the ones we love?" he countered.

Hermione's gaze softened slightly, but her posture remained stiff. "Well, I suppose it doesn't matter in the end. What's done is done. You're here and he's there and now you've done everything you could to protect the one you love."

"Exactly," Harry replied, though he didn't feel as content as he knew he should.

* * *

The doorbell sounded through Grimmauld Place and Harry wondered who was calling on him at such an early hour. He went to the door, peered through the tiny window beside it and nearly shouted at the sight. There, standing on his stoop, was the one person he never thought he'd see again, but desperately wanted to.

Harry took a deep breath and a quick scan in the mirror before yanking the door open. "Draco," he breathed, unable to form proper words. He was afraid that he'd been dreaming and that the blond might disappear any moment.

"I got this letter," Draco explained, holding up a scroll of parchment, "that said it would be safe for me to move back to London if I wanted to do so."

"I didn't know the Ministry sent out letters to that effect," Harry murmured, feeling mild confusion mingling with his happiness at seeing Draco there at his door.

"This wasn't from the Ministry. It was from Granger," he said. "She explained to me what you were doing in the city and what you did for me when you returned home."

"I didn't mean to lie," Harry responded abruptly. He wanted to reach out and pull the blond inside, but didn't know if his touch would be welcome. Perhaps Draco had Apparated all this way just to tell him off. It wouldn't be terribly out of character really.

"Harry, did you really think I had no clue why you were there? You weren't exactly subtle in your skulking around," Draco replied with his trademark smirk.

"So, you knew?" Harry asked, completely dumbfounded.

"Just because I didn't live here didn't mean I wouldn't keep up with what was happening back home. I know that you've been rounding up former Death Eaters for questioning and imprisoning some of them. I also knew that I had nothing to hide, so I wasn't terribly concerned," he noted. "Sorry to disappoint you, Harry, but you're as transparent as a potions vial."

A brilliant flush stole across Harry's cheeks and he came forward at last, pulling Draco inside. "So, I take it you're not cross with me?"

"I was at first, but not anymore. Is it true though? Would I be allowed to move back here? Would I still have to worry about the Ministry watching my every step and throwing me into prison the moment I purchased a satchel hemlock?"

"You would be perfectly safe to move back," Harry assured him. "Are you? Moving back, I mean?"

"I think I might," Draco replied thoughtfully. "After all, it's not every day that the hero of the wizarding world puts in a good word for me. Best not waste it."

"Hero," Harry sighed and turned away, pacing into the foyer. That had been one of the few things that bothered Harry about his and Draco's limited conversations. The blond seemed to be under the same delusion as everyone else, and just like everyone else; Harry would eventually disappoint the man when he didn't live up to the heroic stigma. "I'm nothing special, Draco."

"You are." Draco's words seemed sure and solid, but Harry could only shake his head. "I'll be right back."

The blond disappeared back outside and returned a moment later with a large, squarish object wrapped in brown paper. "What's that, then?" Harry asked, shifting closer.

Draco unwrapped the parcel with a flourish and Harry's eyes went wide. There, in a tarnished golden frame was a painting of him. It wasn't the one from the gallery he'd seen already, no, this one was completely different. It was a portrait of him sitting at the bottom of a Hogwarts staircase, a smudge of dirt on his face and a slow smile playing on his lips. He knew the moment from which this was painted, knew the light green sweater he'd been wearing and the reason for his half-mad expression.

He'd just defeated Voldemort, just ended years of fear and oppression and the knee crippling loss of his loved ones had yet to set in. He was just happy. For the first time in his entire life, Harry had allowed himself to feel pure joy.

"This is the man I fell in love with years ago," Draco whispered, pulling Harry's gaze from the beautifully painted portrait and up to his stunning mercurial eyes. "I was watching you the entire night, and when I saw you here," he murmured, gesturing to the painting, "It honestly took my breath away."

This portrait was Harry, _just_ Harry, not the Boy-Who-Lived, not the defeater of Voldemort and the savoir of all mankind. Draco's painting depicted Harry at his best and his worst all at once and all Harry could do was smile. "Thank you," he whispered. "It's lovely."

"Not as lovely as the real thing," Draco corrected and there was nothing in the entire world that would have kept Harry away from the blond's lips in the next moment. Nothing.

"Stay with me," Harry said. "Just until you find a place of your own, or forever if you want, just don't ever tell me goodnight again unless you're wrapped around me in bed," he blurted when their lips parted for air.

Draco's thick, platinum eyelashes fluttered in response and a subtle grin emerged on his usually stoic face. "Such a Gryffindor," he sighed, threading his fingers through Harry's wild mane. "I'll promise not to leave if you shut up and kiss me again."

"Done," Harry breathed before capturing his Draco's mouth once more.

Fin

Author's Notes: The lyrics are below, for anyone that cares or who *gasp* Hasn't heard of Imogen Heap. *shakes finger at you*

Skipping beats. Blushing cheeks. I am struggling

Daydreaming, bed scenes in the corner cafe

And then I'm left in bits recovering tectonic tremblings

You get me every time

Why d'ya have to be so cute?

It's impossible to ignore you

Must you make me laugh so much?

It's bad enough we get along so well

Say goodnight and go

Follow you home, you've got your headphones on and you're dancing

Got lucky, beautiful shot you taking everything off, watch the curtains wide open

Then you fall in the same routine flicking through the TV relaxed and reclining

And you think you're alone...

One of these days, you'll miss your train and come stay with me

We'll have drinks and talk about things, any excuse to stay awake with you

You'll sleep here, I'll sleep there, but then the heating may be down again

At my convenience

We'd be good; we'd be great together

GO!

Say goodnight and go,

Why's it always goodnight and go?

Oh darling not again

Goodnight and go


End file.
